Mr Monk and the Murder Mystery Weekend
by Amphithea
Summary: Monk goes with Sharona and her latest boyfriend to a Murder Mystery retreat...but is there a real murder?
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Monk and all the characters belong to USA Networks. I have no affiliation with them whatsoever, I'm just having a little fun here.

Mr. Monk and the Murder Mystery Weekend

Prologue

It wasn't easy to find things that Adrian Monk was willing to eat for breakfast. Being as lactophobic as he was, diary products had been all but out of the question until recently. Sharona was doing her best to ease him into the daily use of dairy, and he'd gotten as far as cheese when he seemed to give up. It was milk that was his biggest blockade. Sharona could sometimes manage to slip it into his pancakes and while he would inevitably notice, he dealt with it as well as Monk was capable of dealing with anything. It was these covert culinary tactics that first caused Adrian to be wary of Sharona's cooking. It made him nervous, and he had begun to watch her carefully. Recently, she had taken to locking him out of his own kitchen when she would cook, which caused him to pace nervously and scour the house for anything that might be the slightest bit out of place. The only thing that could make him more nervous than Sharona's cooking was the thought that one day she might not show up at all. 

He had already prepared for her arrival by setting out the appropriate boxes and cans of food. He carefully and meticulously lined them up on his kitchen counter and once satisfied that they were in order, checked his watch. It was nearly nine thirty. Sharona usually came over at nine on Saturdays to make breakfast for the both of them and her son, Benjy. Tonight, she was definitely late, and Monk couldn't get her to answer her phone. He was getting worried and the later she got the straighter he made sure the ingredients were lined up. Just as he picked up the phone to punch her number in one more time, he heard a set of keys in his door and leapt up with a deep sigh of relief.  
  
"Adrian! I'm really sorry I'm late!" Sharona called from the doorway. Monk frowned as he caught sight of her. Sharona Fleming was a small woman, thin and vibrant, though some small signs of her motherhood still hung on her. She was forever attempting to shed the two or three pounds that were leftover from her pregnancy eleven years ago and cover up the barely noticable crow's feet that would appear when she would laugh. What bothered Monk, however, was not her cosmetic superficialities, but the way that she was dressed. She seemed particularly eager to appear youthful tonight, and Monk was all but certain that it wasn't on his behalf. She wore a sleek black dress with a plunging neckline. It hugged her hips and flared out slightly below her knees. She had equally black heels on, and her hair was done up in a crown of soft blond curls. She clutched her purse to her chest, dragged a small suitcase by her side, and gave Monk a little smile. Benjy was not with her.  
  
"Uh, Sharona? You don't have to be, uh, me to notice that you're a little overdressed for breakfast," Monk noted, "and overpacked."

"Listen, I know how you're going to react to this, but I need a huge favor," She said, "This all came up very suddenly, but I got someone to watch Benjy, and I wrote out instructions for you so you can cook for yourself." She fished around in her purse and pulled out a hastily scribbled note. The paper was crinkled up and she did her best to smooth it out before offering it to Monk. He accepted it uncertainly, and continued to try ironing out the wrinkles. Sharona watched his hands pulling at the paper and her feelings of guilt increased with each little tug. 

"W-what are you getting at?" Monk stuttered. Sharona started towards the kitchen, for no reason other than to keep moving and avoid eye contact as she began to explain herself.  
  
"You know that guy I've been seeing? Rich? He invited me to this weekend retreat, but he only told me about it yesterday, and I've already got my tickets and I'm packed and he's waiting downstairs for me, so I was hoping that you'd be okay on your own here for a few days," Sharona stopped as she noticed the careful line-up of grocery items. She spun around and looked at Monk for some kind of reaction. He was still struggling with the sheet of paper as he gave her an uncertain chuckle.

"This is just so soon...I-I.." he paused, "I could just go down there and tell you what's wrong with the guy and then you wouldn't have to go at all and we could have breakfast." He smiled boyishly at her before finding himself distracted by the creases in the paper once more.

"No!" Sharona snatched the paper back from Monk and waved it at him in frustration, "Okay then there's one other option. I got two tickets. One for me, one for you. So you can come with us but you have to leave me alone for at least a little while, got it?"

"I still like the first option better," Monk said sheepishly.

"There is no first option, Adrian, your suggestion doesn't count. Come on. You'll like it. It's one of those 'Murder Mystery' retreat things," Sharona handed him a brochure. Monk frowned at it.

"Don't we do this kind of thing everyday already?" He asked, shrivelling up his nose as he flipped through the booklet. These things were jokes anyway. Either they made it perfectly clear from the first minute who they want you to think is the killer or there weren't enough genuine clues, as there was never a genuine murder, to figure it out to begin with. Sharona ignored Monk's obvious dislike of the situation and went again into her seemingly bottomless purse to fish out a necklace. She shuffled in her heels towards the bathroom. Monk followed.

"It wasn't my idea, it was Rich's. Anyway, c'mon, Adrian, it'll be fun," Sharona insisted as she fixed her necklace crookedly around her neck, "and besides, you'll get the chance to show off! I know you like to show off so don't even try to deny it."

"Sharona..." Monk started, then frowned, unable to help himself. He reached out a hand tentatively and straightened her necklace out. She sighed in exasperation and looked up at him. "All right. Let me just pack a few things."

"Thanks, Adrian," Sharona smiled and thrust the suitcase she'd been carrying towards him, "I packed for you."

"But--" Monk opened the suitcase to find all of his socks packaged in individual plastic bags, his clothing carefully and pristinely folded, a brand new unopened toothbrush, and several towels, pillow cases and sheets. Everything was in perfect order. It normally took him several hours to get his suitcase to look this way. He looked up at Sharona in surprise. She simply smiled and headed towards the door.


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Monk and all characters belong to USA networks. I have no affiliation with them whatsoever, I'm just having fun here.

Chapter One

Richard Dennis no longer considered himself a young man. He was quickly reaching forty and he knew that his hair had beaten him there. He had found himself trying more and more to hold onto what was left of his popularity in high school, but was watching it slip out of his grasp more and more each and every day. He had met Sharona Fleming a few weeks before asking her to go away with him for the weekend. They both went to the same gym, and he had seen her several times before he'd worked up the nerve to accidentally bump into her one day. He'd flashed his winning Dennis smile, the one thing that remained from his days as quarterback in high school, and she'd been his. She had been charming in her own sort of way, smiling, tugging at a stray curl, batting her eyes. Things had gone exactly as Rich had hoped they would. They went out to dinner a few nights but he'd gotten no more than two dates with her before he had the privelage of meeting the famous Adrian Monk. 

It hadn't been so bad the first night. He and Sharona had gone to a movie and the night had ended with a kiss. This had inspired Rich to press onward and he asked her out a second time. They had gone out to Tony's and about halfway through the chicken alfredo, a nervous looking man in a perfectly pressed jacket had approached their table and reluctantly introduced himself to Rich as Adrian Monk. He'd had some absurd complaint that Rich could barely remember. It was something about spilled milk, which Rich had found absolutely hilarious until both Sharona and Monk had given him the most serious looks he'd recieved in his life. It was at that moment Richard Dennis decided that he didn't like Adrian Monk one bit. Sharona had quickly pacified him and sent him on his way, commenting that they were lucky and that he usually stuck around for desert. Rich was not pleased. He suspected that there was something between him, that this absurd phobia of milk was some sort of coverup and that she was cheating on him after only a week.

Sharona had kindly assured him that this was not the case, but Rich felt the need to step up a level in their dating. He enjoyed Sharona's company. He realized, after a time, that they had little in common, but she was pretty enough and that made him want to hold onto her. It was then that he had bought the tickets for the Murder Mystery Weekend package in Solvang. He was determined to prove that he could be everything that Monk was, and more.

After all, you'd never catch Richard Dennis crying over spilled milk.

Then Sharona had mentioned buying a third ticket. She had claimed that she didn't know that Rich had already purchased two tickets, and he had believed her. It was only when she had emerged from Monk's apartment with the detective himself that he realized she had intended to bring him along the entire time.

Richard Dennis was not a happy man. A glance in the rearview mirror would reveal Monk himself, sitting akwardly in the back seat, his hands worrying at each other. Every so often, he would notice the window that was slightly off its track and hit the button to roll it up and down, trying to line it up. Sharona would spin around in her seat to glare at him and he would roll the window back up as best he could and go back to tugging on his own fingers. After a short amount of time, the nearly inaudible whistle of the air that was able to seep through the nearly nonexistant space between the window and its slot in the door would get to Monk. To him it was a shrill and unbearable sound, and he would go back to pushing at the window, rolling it up and down, trying to get it to fit properly.

Whhhhr...the mechanism hummed as the window rolled down. Rich felt as if he were about to snap. He sucked in air between clenched teeth and forced a smile.

"SO, Mr. Monk," he said, "Sharona tells me you're one hell of a detective?" Whhhhhrr....the window rolled back down.

"Uh, well, not really a detective anymore," Monk replied humbly, "they just call me in to help once in a while."  
  
"And why's that?" Rich asked, willing to humor him. 

"My, uh, condition." Whhhhrr...

"And what condition might that be?" Richard asked, hoping that he would make Monk uncomfortable enough that he would stop playing with the controls to the window.

"Adrian has a case of OCD. But he's really doing very well with it," Sharona answered for him. Whhhhrrr....

"I see. So, Adrian, if your habits are keeping you from doing your job, why don't you just..." Rich gritted his teeth, "Stop?"

"Rich! Why don't you tell Adrian about your job?" Sharona said, putting a hand on his arm to calm him. She then spun around and shot Monk another look. Suddenly she felt as if all those years spent raising Benjy were just to prepare her for this weekend. Rich drew in a deep breath and looked at Monk in his rearview mirror. He flashed him the most sincere smile he could muster up.

"Well, I'm sure it's nothing as impressive as what you do, Mr. Monk," he said, throwing in what he thought sounded like a good natured chuckle.   
  
"I'm sure it's not," Monk commented and recieved another look from Sharona. Rich forced out another chuckle. He was beginning to hate Monk and wonder if Sharona was really worth all the effort.  
  
"I'm a doctor," Rich said smugly, "I work in a hospital. Help save peoples' lives." Monk looked at him expectantly and then towards Sharona who was giving him an equally smug smile. He cocked his head to the side and looked nervously at the window. He would ask Sharona later what to do since he wasn't sure which rule applied here. Once she had instructed him not to tell her if he knew something about her dates, and then later she had told him that he was obligated to tell her. No longer knowing which rule still stood, Monk turned his attention back to the broken window. He balled his fist up in the sleeve of his jacket and pressed against the pane of glass. He could feel it jiggle slightly and he hit the button one more time to roll it down. This time it made an unpleasant grinding noise and wouldn't go back up. Sharona turned back and looked at him sharply.

"Adrian!" She hissed, "Stop it! Leave the window alone!"

"I can't," Monk whispered urgently, "it's stuck." Sharona groaned and sunk lower in her seat as Monk scooted desperately over to the other side of the backseat.

The Mobil station that they pulled into only moments later caused Monk to regret ever having fiddled with the window to begin with. He was never particularly fond of gas stations, and this one was no exception. Even so he opened the door and stepped gingerly out of the car as soon as he noticed Sharona heading out. He smiled apologetically towards Rich.  
  
"I'm uh, sorry about this," he said. Rich circled around the front of the car and clapped a hand on Monk's shoulder, causing him to instantly tense up.  
  
"It's all right, buddy," Rich said, "Lemme take a look at it." He bent over and examined the window before tugging at it. Monk frowned slightly and observed for a few moments and then turned and headed towards the little convenience store. He brushed out the wrinkles in his sleeves and steeled himself. He had the feeling that this would not be a pleasant experience for him. Monk nudged the door open with his elbow and edged inside. Sharona was paying for a bag of chips. She didn't look happy with him. Monk tried to smile apologetically, but Sharona turned away.Monk sighed and made his way over to one of the cases to get himself a bottle of spring water. On the way he passed by a case of chilled prepackaged sandwiches that were in no identifiable order. Monk frowned at it. He tried desperately to resist the urge to straighten them out, but in the end he gave in and began to organize the foods. 

"Whatcha doin' there?" a voice asked. Monk replied without looking up from his task.

"The, uh, sandwiches. See, the ham and swiss ones are all mixed in with the egg salad. I'm just fixing them."

"They're in plastic, y'know. They ain't even touching," the other man replied, "you one a' them...eh...whatsits?" Monk placed a sandwich carefully, straightened up and admired his work.

"I'm a detective," he said calmly and then looked at the man. He was average looking, if a bit pudgy, with unkempt hair and a thick moustache. His cheeks were slightly ruddy and Monk couldn't help think that with a few more years, pounds and facial hair he would make a fine Santa Clause at any mall in America. He was dressed well, and he dangled his keys from a finger. His shoes were slightly scuffed on the toes. Monk's eyes took in all of this detail and immediately commited it to memory. They then darted behind the man and noted a car out in the parking lot with a young woman seated inside reading a brochure.

"Detective, eh? Well, you did a nice job, eh, solving them sandwiches," the other man sad, then thrust his hand towards Monk who instinctively lurched backwards, "name's Al."

"Monk," he looked nervously towards where Sharona stood, but she, and the handi wipes were gone, already back in the car. He diligently ignored the other man's hand until he retracted it.

"Well, ah, Monk," Al put an emphasis on the name that people often did, snapping the 'k' at the end. It was a habit that irritated Adrian to no end, "you just keep them sandwiches in line." Monk nodded and agreed to. He wiped his hands self conciously on his pants legs, pushed the man to the back of his mind, and continued on to buy his water.  



End file.
